


Grenadine

by bandaidbrandadesivebandages (grosss)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bloodplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Knifeplay, M/M, Slutty Steve Harrington, finally some good fucking food, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19931161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grosss/pseuds/bandaidbrandadesivebandages
Summary: Instead he laughs, and simply says, “You wouldn’t.” He says it in one breath, heart pounding, knowing full well that yeah, Billy would. He absolutely would.





	Grenadine

**Author's Note:**

> *PLEASE do not read if you are under 18 years of age because this is sexual in nature and I would feel uncomfortable if minors read something nsfw that I wrote! I'm not just saying this for the hell of it, I'm serious. Please please please.*
> 
> I don't have anything else to say about this. Enjoy, fuckers. I'm sorry that the formatting is weird, I'm still getting the hang of it. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at ahoyharringroves

Steve is crying. He’s crying, he vaguely notes, head tilted back to look up at Billy. There’s a firm hand in his hair, pulling at his scalp. It hurts, bringing tears to his eyes. Billy shoots him a look, eyes hardened, illuminated by the sun reflecting off of the Beemer. It’s a look that asks him if he’s going to behave, if he’s going to hold still. Billy would never say it out loud; it’s not his style. Billy is inches from his face, smelling like his dad’s cologne and smoke from his last cigarette, still burning in his free hand. It’s overpowering, he smells stale, he smells like sun-hot fabric and deodorant that needs to be re-applied. Steve hates it, he tells himself. Hates Billy’s try-hard demeanor, hates the sex that oozes off of him. It’s all a game to him. Billy doesn’t care if anyone fucks him, but he knows that it’ll get him what he wants. He knows it’ll get Steve’s attention, as always. He’s got Steve’s left arm crudely pinned to the car, sending a sick jolt of excitement through his stomach. He hurts, from his scalp to his arm to his lip, where Billy had just sunken his teeth in at will, as he always does.

“Still can’t believe you get off on this shit.” Billy nearly spits at him, letting Steve’s wrist go with a swift movement of his own leather-clad arm. Steve takes a shaky breath in, sucking in a mouthful of thick, humid air. It does nothing for him, nothing for his thumping heart or the way he’s still hard in his jeans. It’s daylight, but there’s no one in the dusty parking lot of the strip mall on this side of town, no one at the laundromat advertising .75 cent loads or the souvenir shop for the state park five miles off. If anyone were to walk by, they would only see Billy being Billy, cornering Steve yet again, threatening him again. They wouldn’t see Steve’s lips, dry from hanging open, arching his back against the side of the car, wincing at the hot metal on his arms. They wouldn’t see Billy’s grin, equal parts intriguing and terrifying. “You are sick, Harrington, you know that?” Billy presses his body against Steve’s, the welcome pressure on his groin making him close his eyes for a split second, press his hips back into Billy’s. Steve thinks that he would probably do anything for Billy, given the chance. He would gladly get down in that very parking lot and suck him off, gravel in his knees be damned. He’s shaken from his thoughts by the sound of a quiet click near Billy’s pocket and looks up, meeting Billy’s eyes again. He looks just as fucked as Steve feels, eyes wide, focused, curls sticking to his forehead. “Steve.” Billy uses his name this time, really trying to get his attention. He grabs the front of his shirt, shoving him a little, just for good measure. Steve appreciates the gesture, like old times, like how Billy would grab him and shove him to the ground for the hell of it.

  
Billy pulls his own lower lip between his teeth. “If you’ll let me…” That’s when Steve sees it, the small Swiss Army knife clutched in Billy’s hand. His stomach sinks, but oh. Oh. Jesus. Steve licks his cracked lips, tasting remnants of blood in the center. The sun bounces off of the metal, onto Billy’s expectant face, and Steve feels like the wind was just knocked out of him. He wants to say yeah, wants to say please. Wants to tell Billy that he’ll cooperate if only he promises to make him bleed. Wants to fall back into his contrived yet natural role, wants Billy to knock his teeth out; but that would be the easy route. He doesn’t want easy. Instead he laughs, a little forced. As if they’re in school, in a different parking lot, Steve in his khakis, all hair gel and confidence, nothing like the simpering mess he’s turned into. Instead he laughs, and simply says, “You wouldn’t.” He says it in one breath, heart pounding, knowing full well that yeah, Billy would. He absolutely would. Billy laughs right back at him, smiling fondly. Steve can’t tell if he’s reenacting some high school bullshit or not, but he doesn’t care. Billy lifts his hand up, knife held between his fingers in his fist, brushes his thumb over the scar over Steve’s eyebrow.

  
“You want me to open this back up?” There’s no baby at the end, no sweet glint in his eye. Steve feels queasy with fear, feels like his legs might suddenly give out, but he’s still hard, starting to leak in his sweat-soaked boxers. He manages an “Uh-uh,” a shake of his head, and of course Billy relents, turning to the bare expanse of Steve’s chest, silk shirt unbuttoned in the heat of the afternoon. Billy mumbles something that sounds like “Slutty rich brat,” fingers surprisingly gentle as they brush over his nipples, knife still in his left hand. Steve just might come in his pants right then and there, in the middle of a dusty parking lot off of highway 70, with Billy Hargrove threatening to slice him open. He laughs to himself at the thought, a short and flustered noise.  
“What’s so funny, pretty boy?” Billy runs his tongue over his teeth, pressing the tip of the knife into Steve’s chest. God, he hates being called that, hates how Billy mocks him. “I just-” Steve stops as a hot, stinging pain blooms across his chest. It isn’t like Billy’s soft hand coming down on Steve’s face, or his ass, or the (Steve insists) affectionate way he pulls at his hair. This is a different sort of pain, it feels real, it feels dangerous. It hurts.  
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” He swears, hands coming up to rest on Billy’s shoulders for support. The knife is dull, and he can hear it cut his skin. He feels like he might throw up. There’s a neat line of blood just below his collarbone, tiny red beads bubbling to the surface in its wake. “Billy.” He chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut, palming himself through his jeans. His jeans are too tight. Everything feels too tight. He feels like he can’t get enough air. “You bastard.” Steve breathes, both of them watching the blood trickle down his chest.

  
“I’m not the one with a hard-on, Steve.” Billy chuckles down at him, and Steve laughs again, a light-headed giggle, because it’s funny. Because Billy is hard as well, because he’s bleeding in the middle of a parking lot at the hands of Billy Hargrove, and it’s funny, because they’re both getting off on it. Billy touches the cut on Steve’s chest then, making him wince, bringing his middle finger to Steve’s lips. He does what any self-respecting man would do when presented with a finger; he sucks. Steve takes Billy’s finger into his mouth, tasting blood and what he figures must be nicotine and dirt, and sucks, but Billy is impatient. Billy is mean. Billy shoves his finger in further, and then another, until Steve feels drool escaping the corner of his mouth. He presses his hips against Billy’s again, some part of him wishing that Billy would stick his hand inside, wishing he would just jerk him off, but he knows he won’t be so lucky. Steve comes anyway, gagging on Billy’s fingers, still clinging to him for support, thinking of popsicles and Slurpees and Billy, patching him up.


End file.
